


Satinalia at Vigil's Keep

by moodymarshmallow



Series: The Elf and the Apostate [13]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron's first Satinalia, gifts, mistletoe, and all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satinalia at Vigil's Keep

“This is the first Satinalia I’ve spent as a free man since I was taken to the tower.” Anders’ voice was low, less animated, but that was not unusual for when he was alone with Theron. It was as if the Warden-Commander’s quiet nature muffled Anders somehow, soothed him like a hand down the back of a content cat. Perhaps it was that he knew that Theron’s hearing was so good that he could catch whispered words from across the room, or perhaps it was that it didn’t matter when they were lying in bed together on top of the quilt, Theron’s hand over Anders’ heart, his head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“The Dalish don’t celebrate it, do they?” he asked, though he knew the answer. From what Theron had told him, Dalish elves shared little with humans when it came to holidays and traditions. Even if Anders hadn’t know that, Theron’s puzzled reaction to the decorated tree in the great hall was enough to make the distance between their cultures seem like a cavernous gulf, separated by years and empires and the delicate points of Theron’s long ears. Theron shook his head slightly, his eyes closed in drowsy contentment.   
  
“We did celebrate in the tower,” Anders began, used to talking while Theron listened, used to telling stories and happy that someone wanted to hear. “They put up a tree and candles, and we’d even have a nice meal, with roast and pie. No wine though—wouldn’t want the apprentices getting rowdy.” Bitterness crept into Anders’ voice as it always did when he spoke of his years at Kinloch Hold. “It was such a mockery, like it would placate us and make us content to sit in their pretty cage for them.” Theron dropped his hand from Anders’ chest and ran it down his arm, lacing their fingers together tightly. When Anders looked at him, Theron’s eyes were on him, large, bright, and as green as all the forests in Ferelden. Anders sighed. “I didn’t mean to…”   
  
“They kidnapped you and kept you imprisoned. You have every right to be angry.” Theron’s voice was soft and musical, his accent rounding his words in a low, pleasant way. Anders nearly told him he wished he’d speak more often, but didn’t want Theron to force himself to talk when he didn’t want to. Theron’s fingers were callused from long years of archery, and Anders could feel that rough skin when Theron tightened his grip on his hand.   
  
Instead of the hurricane lamps that normally sat on the nightstands there were festive candles, brought up from downstairs when the feast was over. The arrowslit windows let in just enough air to make the wicks sputter, throwing strange shadows around the room when Pounce stood up and stretched out, hopping off the bed to slink out of the door that was left cracked open for that express purpose. Anders nuzzled into Theron’s hair, his face troubled.

“They didn’t kidnap me,” he said with a sigh. “My father turned me in after I accidentally set the barn on fire. He said it was for my own good, but…could you imagine that? Sending your child away forever ‘for his own good?’” He felt Theron press a kiss to his shoulder, and closed his eyes. “If your own flesh and blood will throw you to the hounds, then who’s to say that anyone else won’t? I couldn’t trust anyone after that, not even you,” he said, as though he were trying to apologize, as if an apology could possibly be needed.   
  
“But you trust me now,” Theron said, releasing Anders from his grip so he could sit up. They had been lying there since the feast had ended, just curled together atop the quilt with Ser Pounce-a-Lot, quietly and contentedly together. Theron unfastened the buckle at his throat to slide off the blue quilted sleeves and collar, then lifted the tabard over his head.  
  
“Of course I do; I love you.” Anders rested himself against Theron’s bare back, his arms around his shoulders. He nuzzled the back of his neck, smoothing his hair to the side to press a fond, gentle kiss to the jagged old scar. “But I trusted you long before that. I’m good at judging people—you have to be to survive long in the circle, and I could tell you were a good person, even if you’d never say so yourself.”   
  
Tenderly, Theron turned and cupped Anders’ scruffy chin, meeting his gaze. “Ma vhenan,” he said with quiet sweetness, closing the distance to kiss him softly, exhaling through his nose when Anders yanked him closer and clutched to him as if he needed him for stability.   
  
“I got you a gift,” he said once they parted, his eyes alight as he reached into the pocket of his robes.   
  
“That was not necessary.”  
  
“It’s traditional to give a gift to your family and loved ones during Satinalia.” Anders took his closed hand out of his robes and proffered the hidden contents to Theron. Theron opened his hand, and Anders placed a warm gold chain into it, watching expectantly as Theron held it up, eyeing the green gemstone pendant. “It reminded me of you,” Anders said. “In the sun, that gem is the exact color of your eyes.” After a pause, he stroked Theron’s cheek with his free hand. “I love your eyes.”   
  
“If I had know that gifts were customary I would have gotten something for you as well,” Theron said a bit awkwardly, watching the pendant spin and sway. Anders took it from him gently and unclasped it, draping it over Theron’s neck and carefully closing the clasp. The green gem sat on his sternum, dark on his pale skin. Anders cupped his cheek and kissed him again. “Do you like it?”   
  
“I do.” Theron fingered the gem, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb. “It is like a part of you that I can carry with me. I like that very much.” Though it was not frequently that Theron would show eager initiative in bed, he now climbed over Anders' body and eased him to his back, the necklace dangling and swinging when he moved. “You have led a troubled life,” he stated flatly, “but are you happy now?”

Anders reached up to pull Theron down atop him, stroking his bare back. “More than I ever thought I deserved to be. I could say it again, if you’d like.”   
  
Theron’s lips were on his cheek, brushing against his three days worth of stubble as he wormed an arm under his head. “Yes. Tell me again,” he whispered. “Tell me until you throat hurts from speaking, until we’re both old, weary men who have lived too long, until the sea swallows the sun.” There was a strange note of desperation in Theron’s voice, and when Anders caught his eyes he realized they were welling up.   
  
“I love you,” he whispered again, pressing his lips to the hot, salty tear that rolled down Theron’s cheek. “Why are you crying?”   
  
“I am happy, and it is strange. I am so sorry for the years you spent in the circle. I would have come for you had I known you were there. We could have had a dozen Satinalias together, a dozen namedays and Feastdays, a thousand ordinary days.” Theron swallowed the lump in his throat, closing his eyes when Anders wiped away another tear.   
  
“To know that you would have is enough, my love.” Anders kissed him soundly, tasting the salt tears on his lips and pulling him close enough that the feathers on Anders’ Tevinter robes rustled irritably under Theron’s light body. “But you can’t change the past. I’m here now.” He eased Theron onto his side, gathering him up to his chest with one hand on the back of his neck. The gold chain was warm to the touch, and Anders ran his finger along it.   
  
“I love you,” Theron whispered, and Anders’ heart leapt into his throat. Theron’s wide eyes were half-closed like a dozing cat, and though the tears had dried up, they left streaks of damp on his pale cheeks.   
  
“What happened to my reticent little elf?” Anders asked, and this time he was the one trying to tamp down a lump in his throat. “The one who couldn’t tell me he loved me unless he did it in a way I couldn’t understand?” Theron smiled and placed a soft kiss on the tip of Anders’ nose. “Say it again,” Anders whispered, and if his voice had been any more needy he would have been begging.   
  
“I love you.”   
  
“Again.”   
  
“Anders…”   
  
“Just once.” 

“I love you, ma vhenan.”   
  
“That is the best gift you could have possibly given me,” Anders said, and pressed his face into Theron’s hair, holding him like a lifeline. “I know that you…but to hear it.”

“I understand.” Theron felt that no matter how many words fell out of his mouth, he would never truly be able to articulate how well he understood, how meeting Anders and being loved by Anders had done so much to exorcise the ghosts in his past. If  _I love you_  was what made him understand, he knew he could say it a thousand more times, until Anders just rolled his eyes and kissed his cheek.

Theron dreamt of an aravel, of hitching halla and driving them off into the Dales, Anders at his side. When they met with a Dalish clan whose Keeper refused to let Anders stay, calling him a shem, they kept moving. When they found a small village whose elder refused to let them stay because Theron was a Dalish elf, they kept moving. Eventually, they found a place where everyone was okay with them, but when Theron woke, he couldn’t remember where it was.   
  
Anders was no longer in bed with him, and the room was chilly. Ser Pounce-a-Lot, who liked to curl against his neck, was also missing. Theron slipped out of bed, the wood floor chilly under his bare feet. At the wardrobe he found one of Anders’ shirts and pulled it over his head, walking down the stone halls in silence, looking at the low candles and wondering where everyone had gone. At the bottom of the stairs he heard raucous laughter from the dining hall. Sigrun and Nathaniel were having some sort of good natured argument, with Anders playing referee. Theron leaned on the doorjamb and watched them, a small smile on his face as Sigrun elbowed Anders in the side and pointed towards the doorway.   
  
“Wait, wait,” Anders said as he hurriedly squirmed out of his seat, nearly toppling it in his rush to cross the room, holding one hand up to indicate that Theron shouldn’t move. Feeling slightly alarmed, Theron glanced around the room, wondering if something was wrong, his cheeks burning when Anders wrapped him up in a crushing hug. Anders kissed him then, soundly, one hand to Theron’s flushed cheek as he held him, parting his lips and flicking his tongue across Theron’s.   
  
There was a brief moment where Theron forgot where he was, reaching up to wrap his arms around Anders’ shoulders, stretching to his toes, no longer feeling the cold floor underneath them, only the thrum of his pulse and the heat of Anders’ mouth. Sigrun hooted then, cheering them on, and Theron pulled away and put his hand to his face, ears tinged red with embarrassment.   
  
“It’s tradition,” Anders said, and pointed out the spring of greenery with white berries pinned to the doorjamb. “If you meet someone under the mistletoe you have to kiss them.” Anders released him, but lightly stroked his cheek. “You should have seen Sigrun and Nathaniel, he was all blustery and she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down to kiss him. His nose ended up in her mouth and I don’t think either of them will ever live it down.”   
  
At the long table breakfast was being served by elven servants, the room filling with the scent of ham and freshly baked bread. “Don’t do that again,” whispered Theron, his cheeks still flushed nearly as dark as his hair, but after a quick glance into the room to make sure nobody was looking, he grabbed Anders’ hand and pulled him out of the doorway, leaning in the small alcove just outside.   
  
“I couldn’t help myself,” Anders said apologetically, running a fingertip over Theron’s long ear, smiling when Theron’s eyes fluttered shut. “And now I know I’ll never get the chance again because you’ll be checking doorways as soon as anyone even mentions Satinalia—”   
  
His sentence died when Theron cupped his chin and kissed him again, one arm around his shoulders, stretching far on his toes so Anders didn’t have to bend down. Breathlessly, Anders rested his forehead against Theron’s. They stayed in the alcove together for another moment, quietly resting their heads together, red-cheeked, giddy, and in love.


End file.
